Ressurrected Diamonds
by ParanoiaPoliticianDiva77
Summary: 1908 A sixteen year old girl Marie and her sister sneak into the abandoned dancehall Moulin Rouge and find a drunken grief ridden man. What will this sad mans anecdotes reveal about Maries past?
1. Chapter 1

Marie stood in awe, as she looked around herself "what happened to this place?"

She was right to ask, everything was in a half-light, and the curtains were ripped and tattered, full of holes where the moths had eaten at it. The floorboards creaked and everything was covered in nearly ten years worth of dust.

Her sister, Yvonne, opened a curtain, which let in more light through the frosted windows. You could now see how large the dance hall was, how the stage, though covered in dust, was obviously barely used.

Yvonne and Marie were bored that afternoon, the snow was melting and they had nothing to do. They decided to explore their side of the city, which is where they found the old town of Montmarte.

Their parents had always told them never to go there, that it was a village of sin where bohemians and whores ran drunk, but that just made it more intriguing.

So they were expecting a town of flashing colours and drunken happiness, the centre of art and music of Paris.

But what they found was the ghost of what had been, the echoes of the music of the children of the revolution playing, the laughter of the dancing girls and the cries of pleasure from rich gentlemen. But all of it was gone.

They came across this old, run-down dance hall, with broken letters above it spelling "Moulin Rouge" though the G had long crashed to the ground and is lying against the boarded up doors, though they still understood the name of the place-on top of the entrance building there was a red windmill, years and years out of use. It and the words 'Moulin rouge!' were faded red and were decked with light bulbs, long out of use.

They had snuck in though a crack in the side passage, no one had been in the dance hall for eight years and it was boarded up and clearly abandoned.

As they walked towards the main dance hall they saw the remains of a great elephant.

Not real of course but an elephant shaped house, they could inside through the balcony into a room, a love nest with faded colour.

They walked towards the entrance of the dance hall; the path lined with lanterns, long ago extinguished, the grass unkempt and overgrown over the years. The front doors red paint peeling, one hanging of its last hinge, ready to fall, which it did when the opened it and stepped inside the ruins of the notorious nightclub.

There were platforms and a stage and an area of seating, thick with dust and age, tattered and faded red velvet curtains hung by the stage.

Marie looked across the spacious stage and in a speck of a moment something glinted. She was intrigued at this bright object amidst such a dark and dank place. She walked towards the stage and climbed the stairs, coughing as the dust came up at her feet. As she neared the object she realised it was an old hairpiece, silver and shining, fallen out of the hair of some beautiful actress as she walked across the stage. But what lay next to this beautiful ornament puzzled her.

A single, red, rose. Freshly cut just lying next to the hairpiece. Marie picked it up and smelt it. She sighed; it was so exquisite and perfect. She wondered who had left it next to this hairpiece, centre stage.

Yvonne was wandering through the seating area; she could almost hear the applause still going, the clapping and stomping and roaring of the madames and monsieur's in their evening wear, out for a night at the theatre or opera perhaps. Whatever the show might've been, Yvonne knew as she heard these echoes of applause and encores that it must have been stunning.

Marie bent down and looked closely at the hairpiece, careful not to touch it. She wasn't quite sure, but she felt that the ornament shouldn't be touched, this is where it lay.

It was dazzling, Marie thought, are those…real diamonds? She shook her head-nothing that precious would be left on a stage floor. It was curved and silver with three petal shapes on either side of it, these shapes covered in what appeared to be diamonds. It then had two threads of diamond beading, probably that hung across the forehead. It was such a strange, unusual piece of jewellery, it almost looked exotic but it still had a glamorous European feel to it. A cross between the west and the east, the glamour of the jewels but you could almost smell the exotic spices of the east.

Marie shivered, the warmth that the hairpiece produced was gone, she could feel the true coldness of the dead theatre, and she could even smell how cold it was.

But then she heard a sneeze. She turned to say 'bless you' to her sister but Yvonne shrugged,

"It wasn't me," she stated, confused.

Marie looked around, scared in the shadows of this dead theatre. Who was there in the shadows? Marie jumped as she heard a cough and then a drunken hiccough. She looked around, scared out of her mind. She saw Yvonne and ran to her, they clutched onto each other, scared for each other.

"Who's there?" Marie called out cautiously, looking around. She heard a groan in the shadows and a clunk of a glass bottle. Marie walked forward towards the source of the noise, scared of who or what she'd find.

She saw a figure, slumped against a wall. As she got nearer she could tell it was an adult, male, hiccoughing and hungover. He looked up at her as she approached. She was scared. What if she was raped or bashed? What was she doing approaching some strange drunk in the shadows of an old abandoned theatre? But something told her that he was okay, an instinct told her it was safe.

Warily, she sat down next to him, and pulled the bottle of whisky from his hands. He looked at her, unsure, questioning the kindness in her eyes. His beard was unkempt and overgrown, like the grass outside. He had bags under his eyes, which were red rimmed with marks from tears down his face. He licked his parched lips and moved to snatch his bottle back, but Marie pulled it away. He looked straight at her, into her eyes and she could see the pain in his life, all in his gloomy hazel eyes. He looked at her in shock, his eyes filling with tears. He looked her hair, her skin, her nose and eyes, but then noticed the differences. He brushed away the tears.

"Give it back," he said slowly, reaching for the bottle, with a severe look on his face. She pitied him and stood up, walked towards the window and opened it. She placed the bottle out of it and heard it smash and as the strong alcohol seeped through the snow, she closed the window.

The whole time, Yvonne stood watching her sixteen-year-old sister approach this fully grown man in a drunken mist. She had always seen her do these things, fearlessly. She always had gone on instinct and impulse. If the homeless man seemed nice, she'd tête-à-tête with him for hours then bring him some biscuits. The stray dog which barked at everyone and, while their neighbour had gone to fetch their gun, she just went up towards him and held out her hand, patted the huge dog, which then she bonded with over an hour. No fears except about how starved the dog was and the whole time calculating what she could sneak from that nights dinner for the gaunt dog.

But this was different. The homeless man had nothing to say-born homeless and most probably would die homeless. The dog had not told them of any points of interest in its short life, they could only guess and invent all the wonderful adventures that the sweet dog must have had.

But this shell of a man had a story to tell. The sisters could sense it.

Marie sat next to the man just talking for 10 minutes, the whole while he was staring at her with a look of confusion and fascination. As Marie concluding her story of her name, and all her personal details, she looked at him.

"Et tu monsieur? What about tu? Have you got a name?" she asked, searching his face with her eyes, as if she'd find his name somewhere in it.

He looked away from her and shook his head. Her pale skin and long, wavy, red hair disturbed him. It almost like Sati- no, no it was better not to think of her.

He didn't want to think of her anymore, and his constant drinking deadened the pain.

The more he drank, the more he forgot.

He didn't want to remember.

She looked at him curiously. She wanted to know what had caused so much pain in this broken man.

She put her hand on his shoulder.

"How about I go again monsieur" she suggested "Je'mappelle Marie" and she pointed to herself, "Now you try"

He looked at her, and gave her a half-smile, one of very few smiles in the past ten years.

"Je'mappelle Christian" he said pointing to himself and he stumbled up onto his feet.

"Au revoirs" He called out to Marie, walking away through the aged seats, his back to her.

She stood up and ran after him.

"Wait! Wait monsieur! Do you have a home? If not you can-"

"Yes I have a small apartment" he cut her off and turned back around and began walking away from her again, through the velvet seats.

"I don't need your charity," he added bitterly.

Marie frowned and looked at the hunched over Christian, clearly hungover, staggering his way through the empty dance hall. She ran after him.

"Well then monsieur, I'll have to see for myself," she said cheekily and walked next to him, hooking her arm through his.

He looked at her "Why are you doing this?" he said quietly.

Marie merely smiled at him.

Yvonne came after them, wondering what in the world her sister was doing, going back to a strange mans home.

Marie talked the whole time. She told him about the time that Yvonne had gotten greedy and stolen a whole apple pie from their neighbour's window, and how Marie had blackmailed her to share the tasty delicacy. And about the time she rescued a kitten from the clutches of the wicked boys down the street.

He shivered as they walked away from the run down nightclub, and across the streets of Montmarte, cold with only a thin jacket on him.

He stopped and grimaced at the building they were approaching. Marie glanced to see what was wrong and saw the apartment block with the huge red letters spelling out

"L'amour" across one side of the building, the red paint peeling with age.

She smiled; to have the word 'Love' spelt across the side of where you lived would be amazing. To see the word every time she'd come home from work or the food markets. It warmed her.

She looked at Christian; his eyes were dark and his face full of pain, as if it hurt him to read such a word.

He closed his eyes, shook his head and walked towards the building.

"So this is where you live?" Marie asked.

"Yes"

Christian and Marie entered the building, Marie turned to look at Yvonne who shook her head and turned to go home. Marie entered and they climbed the old, rickety stairs until they reached the third floor where he opened the door to number 19.

The room was dark, the only light coming from the windows, one pointing towards the rundown Moulin rouge, the other with part of the L in the "L'amour" edging into the window, and Marie heard a canary sing. She turned to the far corner and there was a green canary in a cage, singing with all its heart. But she turned to the rest of the room.

Marie stood in awe. Every wall was coated in pieces of paper, all pinned to the walls. She looked closely at the nearest sheets and saw words and phrases that were continuously there. 'Satine', 'Moulin Rouge', 'Zidler', 'Duke' and 'Love'. Did he write all of this?

She turned to see an old typewrite on a dusty wooden table. Both were covered in dust and cobwebs.

"Are you a writer?" she asked him in awe.

"I can write, yes" he said blankly, walking towards a cupboard. He opened it and pulled out a dusty bottle filled with lime green liquor. The label, though faded, had the word 'Absinthe' and had a picture of a fairy, a young girl, blonde, in a sparkling outfit all in green with sparkling green wings holding a glass of the drink the bottle held. She was surrounded by magical looking glitter, all green.

He sat down and grabbed a shot glass and poured himself a drink.

"What is that stuff?" she asked, wrinkling her nose at the strong smell of the alcohol.

"Absinthe, otherwise known as 'the Green Fairy'" he said, pointing to the picture of the fairy on the label. "Want some?" he added, offering her the bottle.

"Ummm, No merci, I don't drink" she lied, unsure of what he would do to her if she got drunk on this unfamiliar green liquid.

"There's always a first, besides if you're going to drink anything, absinthe's the best choice, you see so many amazing things, especially in your first glass" he suggested.

"What did you see in your first glass then?" she asked, now curious.

"Diamonds, Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love, and the Moulin Rouge" he said, suddenly a glint came to his eyes, obviously remembering a happy moment in his life, whether it was dream or real it brought warmth to his sad face. You could see the remains of a happy life flicker through his face, which gave him a young boyish look, naïve, and idealistic, within moments it was gone.

Marie frowned. She recognised Truth, Beauty, Freedom, Love-they were the bohemian ideals, you would expect that from a drunken writer in Montmarte, but diamonds?

"You saw…diamonds?" she said, perplexed at what he meant.

He nodded; remembering his first drink with his friends, then shook the thought away. "Yes, the most beautiful diamonds you'll ever see, the type that you only meet once in an eternity".

He gazed off, diving into his memories of the first time he saw Satine. The sparkling Diamond.

"I'm sorry monsieur, I don't think I understand" Marie said shaking her head. What did he mean by meeting diamonds?

"When I had my first glass, it was only just after arriving in Paris-I'm English you see. Anyway, I had come to Montmarte to be part of the centre of the bohemian revolution with what they called the children of the revolution" he paused, wondering whether he should continue.

"In those days I was young, naïve, I was only just 21…hmmm that means it must've been…eight years ago, yes eight."

"Anyway, my apartment was right underneath a group of bohemians, a dwarfed French artist-Henri Marie Toulouse Lautrec, Satie a composer, Audrey a writer, Maric and a narcoleptic Argentinean performer…I, I don't think I remember his name…did he even have one? They had called themselves the 'children of the revolution'. They all worked for the Moulin rouge, which was right across the street"

"The day I met these people, was when some lose floorboards in their apartment gave way when the narcoleptic Argentinean fell unconscious and fell through my ceiling, as he lay there amongst the rubble in the middle of this room, Toulouse came through my door, dressed as a nun, babbling on about the Argentinean and his awful disease, narcolepsy, which is where he would constantly fall unconscious"

"Because the Argentinean was unconscious, they needed to find someone else to read the part of the young, sensitive, Swiss, poet, goat-herder in their new play-something very contemporary called 'Spectacular, Spectacular'."

"Before I knew it I was upstairs, standing in for the unconscious Argentinean, unfortunately there seemed to be some artistic differences between Audrey (the writer) and Satie (the composer). I suddenly took inspiration and came up with a phrase that fitted the music perfectly. When Toulouse said that Audrey and I should both write Spectacular, Spectacular; suddenly Audrey left in a fury and I was left to write for them. They were unsure as to how they would get Zidler to agree when I had no experience in such writing. They decided that I would present my work to the head courtesan of the Moulin Rouge and she would convince Zidler of my worthiness"

"In celebration Toulouse got out his favourite drink, Absinthe, and poured a shot for

all of us"

"Suddenly, the fairy on the bottle came alive, she flew up in front of us and sung the lyrics I had just written for them;

'The hills are alive, with the sound of music'

As we all laughed, darker, harder music came on as she danced for us. In a drunken stupor we climber out onto the side of the building chanting Beauty, Truth, Freedom and Love with the green fairy continuing to dance and sing. She lead us to the Moulin and we were sucked in like a spiral as her eyes turned red and she screamed"

He suddenly looked up at Marie, realising he had said more than he planned. She looked at him, wondering if he would continue.

He looked at her. He wasn't sure if wanted to say anymore or not, whether he wanted to bring up what he had spent the past 8 years burying. He wasn't sure if he wanted to continue to when he had met…her, the woman that had changed his life forever. He wasn't sure if he was even comfortable telling this young girl about Toulouse, Satie and the Argentinean. Would she even understand, this girl, half his age? He had always been sure about everything, back when Satine was in the world, but now he was never sure, always questioning everything he did, never trusting himself.

He got up and went back to the cupboard, and got out a bag of seed for the canary. He went to the cage and took the small green bird out of the cage. He was surprised by the long life Satines bird had been granted. She was now 9 years old, and she'd soon be gone, another remnant of Satine, out the window.

Marie watched him as he carefully fed the bird. This was a different Christian than the drunken mess she had found that afternoon in the Moulin, as he gently poured the seed into the bowl, making sure he did not over fill it. Then he changed the water with such precision. She saw that this was one of those things where it just helped him keep going, no matter how bad things had been.

She so desperately wanted to know more about his experience at le Moulin Rouge.

He looked at her, she looked so young, he wondered if she was even alive at the time of Satines death, the years seemed longer than eight years definitely; it had to have been at least 20 years that he had spent in a drunken stupor.

"Umm, how old are you Marie?" he asked quietly.

She was surprised, this was one of the first times he had initiated conversation without the subject being the drink that he was so fond of.

"Sixteen last week" she said proudly, soon she'd leave home and go out by herself into the world, just like this man had, and have an amazing adventure just like him, well she assumed that's what had happened at first to this man.

He looked, sixteen! So young, he remembered being such a young naïve sixteen year old, dreaming of nothing but running away to the centre of the bohemian revolution, not knowing anything outside his small English home.

"Continue with your story, I don't think you explained what you meant by 'diamonds'" she said tentatively.

He sighed; he had known it was coming.

"When we arrived at the Moulin rouge, it was a blur of sights, smells, and this amazing music I had never heard before. It was one of the most intense moments of my life, up until then at least."

"The dancing girls, the whores of the apocalypse, the four that Zidler called 'His diamond dogs', Zidler was the owner, the ringmaster of it all, the man who conducted the frenzied cancan which got so energetic and frenzied that it killed the weaker girls at times. These diamond dogs, Nini legs in the air, China Doll, Arabia and Mme Fromage, conducted this wild dance and had everything from money to diamonds thrown at them from the wealthy gentlemen who delighted in their company. "

"Suddenly all the lights dimmed and shimmers of faint blue glitter surrounded us. We all turned to see the sparkling diamond being lowered on her trapeze above our heads. She was beautiful, the finest jewel in the world, in a sparling almost blue corset costume with a black top hat and her stunning red hair all in curls over one shoulder, contrasting with her snow white skin. She was a courtesan and she sold her love to men with her beauty. As she started to sing and sway on her trapeze the music grew to a huge crescendo and Toulouse discussed at a table with me that I had gotten a private appointment with the Sparkling Diamond, the jewel hanging from the ceiling, an interview with Satine."

He paused. He realised that every time he decided to tell a little more he couldn't stop.

He just saw her fiery red hair and porcelain skin and he just wouldn't stop talking about the woman who changed his life. This girl entranced him; she resembled Satine in more ways than just her hair and skin. Her nose was the same; her figure was the same, her hair curled in the same way. It was strange and it hurt to look at her, but he couldn't pull away his gaze.

Marie sat there puzzled. Satine, Satine, it was such a familiar name, she knew she had heard it somewhere before but she couldn't remember where. His description of this beauty made her uneasy. It sounded like herself, the hair, the skin, the way he was looking at her suggested something as well, this Satine was obviously once his lover and obviously he still wasn't over her. She kept away from his gaze, not sure if she wanted to hear more of his captivating story.

She got up and pulled one of the sheets of paper off the wall. It had a something handwritten at the bottom, saying 'pg 67'. She read over it.

"_As I lay there on the bed, wrapped in a grey and scratchy blanket, Toulouse came into the room. I shivered as his words ran through me, I didn't care, I just sat and stared straight out of the window, at the lit up night club. Satine was out of my life and I never wanted to hear anything about love again. _

_I felt so absolutely heartbroken and wretched that I was beyond tears. A day ago I had the greatest thing in the world and it was taken away from me. And what for? Security, money, glamour and superficial love. I wanted to cry and let it all out; get the weight off my shoulders, but my eyes would not let me cry. It is like I've forgotten how to cry, its like I'm just a raw egg of emotion and could break at the slightest knock or bump. _

_What was Toulouse saying? '' I wanted to shut out what he had said. I screamed go away until he did. I didn't want to think about what Toulouse had said, but something had stirred a curiosity in me that I couldn't shake, I couldn't help wondering what other reasons there could've been for Satines sudden coldness, her sudden wish to leave me. Was she pretending that it was money and fame that had pulled her away from me? Maybe she still did love me? No she wouldn't, if she loved me she wouldn't have left me._

_I couldn't believe what she had done; she truly had shown this afternoon that she was just a whore in a nice dress. She was no superior than the prostitutes that haunted the streets in search of some quick cash. She was just as cheap as them, giving up her body for some money. She was as low as the dogs, selling her love for superficial cold cash. Letting men pay her for pleasure. And why shouldn't she be paid? She's a whore like the rest and does her job perfectly. _

_Her job was to make men believe that she loves them, when really she'll stay with them until the big money comes along. _

_Why shouldn't she be paid, I ought to pay her._

_She made me believe that she loved me, like every other man that had ever been in her life, she couldn't love, with a job like that how could she have truly ever loved me?_

_Why shouldn't I pay her?_

_So I returned to the Moulin Rouge one last time._

Marie stopped reading there and looked up at Christian; she couldn't believe he'd written that. It was so morbid and depressing but yet well written. She was confused, was the beautiful courtesan and the whore he spoke of the same person? Or was the Satine on the paper just a coincidence? Or has he made the whole thing up, going insane with the solitude and the drink? She wasn't sure.

"Is this what happened later?" she asked holding up the page.

He peered at the number, 67. "Yes, the aftermath of Satine leaving me" he said bluntly.

She was surprised, he only read the page number and he still knew exactly what it was about. She looked closely at the page and she realised it was old, older than she thought, yellowed with age and smudged with tear marks.

"How long ago was all of this written?" she asked, feeling bad, her curiosity getting the better of her.

He shrugged "Seven or eight years I think."

"Will you tell me what had happened before that?"

"Shouldn't you ought to be getting home to your parents? Its 5:30pm" he asked, exasperated at all of her questions.

"I don't have any parents, at least none that I know of," she said forlornly.

"What?" he said intrigued.

Marie sighed, hardly anyone she knew, knew her secret, it wasn't something that she advertised to the public. She never considered her adopted parents as her parents. They were simply Jean and Catherine, and she loved them as if they were her own Maman and papa. But she simply never considered them as 'parents'.

When she explained this he looked at her strangely.

"Then you do not know the identity of your parents?" he asked, now curious.

"No, all I know is that my mother came from Montmarte and left me on my adoptive parents doorstep, she wrote a note and was dying was one year old. I hardly remember the orphanage. Actually, I don't recollect anything about it. Now, can you please continue your story?"

He shook his head; he didn't know whether he wanted to relive those agonising moments more than once.

She frowned and stood up and wandered around the room, looking for something to do to annoy him until he was irritated enough to tell her the rest. She scanned the room, finding nothing of interest except for a leather bound journal, on the table next to his bed. She swiftly moved towards it and sat down on his bed and picked up the journal, maybe this would hold the answer.

As she fumbled with the latch suddenly Christian stood up from the table they had been at and lunged on to her, grabbling for the journal, doing anything to get it, and seized it out of her hands and holding it close to him.

She was speechless, he hadn't seemed violent but the way he swiped at her made her cautious of him. She looked wide-eyed at him, her face pale with shock at his actions.

He made a movement towards her but she moved away, not removing her gaze from his. He sighed and sat down next to her.

"Listen, I'm sorry, its hard for me to answer these questions and this journal is very special to me, I haven't even read it for myself, no one has seen it except Satine, its hers from when she was young, a teenager" he said, ending the explanation quietly with the mention of the courtesans name.

She looked at him, questions reeling through her mind.

"She's dead, Satine" Christian finished frankly.

Marie looked down and nodded.

"I know"


	2. Chapter 2

Marie helped him clean the apartment and then sent him to bed.

When he protested she replied "You haven't had a proper nights sleep for how long now?" as she observed the large, dark rings under his eyes. He slumped down in defeat and climbed into his bed, being careful to stash the journal underneath his mattress.

Marie smiled; she wouldn't read it ever unless he allowed her the supreme privilege to. She wouldn't do anything to upset this man who had shared this story with her.

But she still was curious.

He fell asleep instantly and as he slept she sat and looked at him. He had washed and finally shaved, he was almost unrecognisable.

His face was smooth and clean without his unkempt beard, he suddenly didn't look thirty anymore but now had a young, naïve look to him, like a puppy.

She looked at him, and realised how handsome he actually was, what with those eyes and that smile, now that he had shaved he now looked years younger, and she liked it, a lot.

His hair was nice and soft, a chocolate brown, he was now peaceful and as he slept she also fell asleep, leaning against the side of his bed.

She dreamed.

Marie was young, six years old, as she sat under the table, playing with her rag doll giggling and talking with it. A child's game, hiding from her sister.

Suddenly she heard Jean and Catherine approaching the kitchen, their voices loud and scary. Marie, frightened, huddled in her sanctuary under the kitchen table as she listened to her guardians argue.

"She can go have another if she wants Marie so badly!" Catherine yelled.

"Think about it-we give Marie back to Satine then there's more food, Yvonne will have a better life because of it! Do you want to jeopardize our own child's future just because of some orphan? Is that what you want?" Jean yelled back, anger growing in his voice.

"I am not giving Marie back to that glamorised whore! Its not how it works, I raised this girl, why should she grab her back cause she feels like being a mother now? It's too late for her jean! She won't have a clue! Im not giving Marie back to her whore of a mum!" Catherine screamed, close to tears.

"You're always so selfish! Listen to yourself-'I raised this girl' you just want Marie because you and Yvonne never connected like you and Marie did-but giving Marie back to her REAL MOTHER is what's best!" jean screamed and sat on the table.

Marie was scared; whom were they talking about, who was Satine? Did they say that she was her mother? They always had said that she was a rich lady with no other family who had died in a terrible accident, what was a whore? She felt the table shudder as Jean began to cry, unsure what to do.

Catherine began to cry too and sat on the chair and slumped her head on the table as they both cried. Marie felt a tear run down her face, unsure what to do, who were they talking about?

Catherine picked up her head and looked at jean with a tear-stained face, and shuddered.

"I'm just saying that Satine is young, she's probably lost the maternal instinct that you get when your child is born, the closest thing she has to a husband is her clients, how is a cancan dancer going to properly look after a child? Imagine the things Marie would be exposed to, she'd have to live at that goddamn whore house, I don't want our child to be exposed to whores and sleazebags at age six" she explained, her head in her hands.

Jean stood up and hugged Catherine, picked her up and sat her on his knee and rocked her back and forth.

"I don't want to give up Marie, I do love her, I'm just trying to think logically for Yvonne's sake. Listen how about we talk to Satine-make a condition that if she finds herself a husband, gets out of the business and settles down then she can have Marie." He said, exasperated.

Catherine nodded and stood up and watched him walk out of the room. She sat down at the table and began to weep, not knowing what to do.

Marie sat there, underneath the table, uncertain what to do. She wanted to come out and hug her mother and tell her that it was ok and give her a hug, but then she would know that she had heard everything they had said. She leant against the table leg and yawned as she closed her eyes.

Marie opened her eyes and shuddered, what was with her haunting dream? Was it a memory? She was confused; if it was a memory then it meant that Satine, Christians Satine was her mother.

She shook her head, no it had to have been a different Satine, and if it had been the Satine Christian had known and loved she would've told Christian about it and Christian would've made the connection.

She looked at Christians watch, it was 5 in the morning and she realised Catherine and Jean would be worried as to where she was, why she did not come home.

She grabbed a piece of paper and a nib and quickly scrawled on it

"Dear Christian, I am sorry but I fell asleep and have only just woken up this morning, my family will be wondering where I am, I will visit soon, there are questions that need answering, all my love, Marie"

She left it underneath the bottle of absinthe-surely he'd find the note there, and quickly fixed her hair in the mirror. She ran out the door throwing on her coat and running down the street of Montmarte until she reached the exit.

She arrived to her street and realised that she'd have to think of a way to get into the house without alerting her parents to her lateness.

She walked around to hers and Yvonne's window and peeked in through the frosted glass. Yvonne was lying there in their bed, sleeping. Marie tapped the window softly, scared to wake anyone except Yvonne. Yvonne was a light sleeper and opened her eyes as she yawned and stirred. She looked at the window and nearly shrieked as she saw Marie at it. She hopped out of bed and ran to the window, opened it letting Marie in.

"Marie! What have you been doing all night? Have you been with that drunk? Oh lord, tell me nothing happened! Marie what were you thinking for Christs sake? Sacred bleu!" she whispered harshly, hugging Marie and kissing her forehead.

"Get orf me! I'm fine, okay. Yes I was with him, but he's not a drunk, he's a writer. Nothing happened we just talked then I made him go to bed, I accidentally drifted off to sleep but that's not the weird part" and in this hurried whisper she told Yvonne about her dream, careful not to leave a detail out.

Yvonne gaped at her.

"So, do you think that, that your dream was actually a memory?"

Marie shrugged as she pulled her nightgown on over her dress and cloak. She braided then mussed her hair and fixed herself to make her look as if she'd just woken. She then left the room.

She went into the other room, the kitchen, living room, laundry and pantry-this was the room where it all happened, they made food, and then ate it. They'd sit around and talk and tell stories and their parents would read them books when they were little.

They weren't poor but neither were they rich.

She saw Jean sitting at the table, reading the newspaper. He was a kind man and had acted as if Marie had been his own. At the stove was Catherine, boiling a few eggs for breakfast. Jean looked up when Marie walked in.

"When did you get in last night?" he said suspiciously giving her the eye up and down. He got up and walked towards her, and sniffed.

"Why can I smell alcohol and smoke ma Cherie?" he said, his face going red, ready to lecture her.

Marie stopped-she had a lie ready about her finding a stray dog and loosing track of the time but she had forgotten about Christians apartment-it smelt like an ashtray and the stink of alcohol was so strong on him and anything he had touched. She gulped and stepped backwards.

"Catherine, Jean, Can you please tell me honestly-who was my mother? I don't think she died like you said," she said, getting straight to the point. Yvonne walked in just as she said this and went white as she sat down.

Jean and Catherine looked at each other. Catherine nodded.

"Darling, we know no more than you do-we just thought it was easier to say that she was dead when you were younger, to stop you from always wondering where she was, we were only trying to protect you." Catherine lied. She didn't want Marie knowing that she was the product of whore's dealings.

"Did she ever come looking for me, ask for me back? I think she might've, please, no more lies" Marie said cautiously and as she said this she saw the colour leave Catherine and Jeans faces. She had hit it.

Silence crossed the room as Marie looked pleadingly at Catherine and Jean, wanting to know what really had happened.

"Darling, that's enough, we know nothing, okay? Nothing" Catherine said, emphasising the last word, the word full of warning.

Marie looked at them; they had never denied her answers. Whenever she had asked they would always tell her the truth, and there were no secrets. And yet they wanted to conceal her identity completely, as if it brought back the feeling that really, she wasn't theirs.

"Why wont you tell me? I just want to know who I am!!!" she screamed, frustrated and angry, eyes brimming with tears.

"Marie! Don't you ever ask us again! Definitely not if you're going to speak like that!!!" Catherine yelled back.

"I hate you!" Marie screamed and ran, she ran from the kitchen into her bedroom and slammed the door. She pulled her nightgown off and opened the window, pulling on her gloves as she ran down the road. Once she had gotten away from her street she stopped and began to cry as she walked into Montmarte, towards Christians apartment building opposite the moulin rouge, up the stairs until she reached his door, wiping away the tears.

He automatically opened the door as he had seen her coming.

She jumped onto him and began kissing him, he was surprised, and every fibre in him told him not to kiss her back, he loved Satine and would never even look at another girl. He pushed her away.

"What are you doing?" he said holding her back by the shoulders.

"Is it not obvious?" Marie said as she jumped onto him, kissing him more and more, him beginning to kiss back.

She smiled as he reciprocated and he frowned. What was he doing? Everything said to him "No! Don't do this! You're betraying Satine!" but he didn't care anymore, he just wanted to live in this moment, if he couldn't have Satine, what was he supposed to do?

They stood there in the doorway for a while, just kissing and taking in each other's warmth. Then suddenly he picked her up, continued to kiss her, and then carried her to his bed.

As he lay her down he suddenly realised-what was he doing? About to make love to a sixteen year old in the very bed him and Satine did it? Was he crazy?

"Christian? Do you really want to do this?" Marie said, stopping the kissing, breaking the moment, looking up at him innocently, a virgin.

He slumped over and sat down on the floor, leaning against the bed. He shook his head.

"No and yes" he said.

Marie now was confused. She sat on the bed.

"So should I or should I not do up my buttons on my dress?" she asked, pointing to her chest. He looked at her and sighed. He got up and got out another bottle of absinthe from the cupboard and board them both a drink. He sat at the table and drank his shot in one gulp.

She looked at him. She was ashamed; she knew she shouldn't have jumped on him like that, just because she knew Catherine and jean would die if they found out. She wanted to upset them but in doing that she upset herself. She did up her dress and fixed her hair.

"I'm not drinking that stuff, you know I wont," she said, looking at the drink with disgust.

"Well yesterday I didn't think you would try to screw me, but here we are" he replied bluntly, not looking at her.

She blushed; she was regretting what she did more and more.

"Go" Christian, said quietly.

"What?" Marie said, confused.

"I've had enough of whores, I'm sick of them, they ruined my life before and now they've sent you to taunt me, go away" he said cruelly, still staring straight ahead.

"Christian, im not a whore, im not out to get you. I just lost control for a moment, its never happened before in my life, I don't know what came over me-please, friends?"

Marie said, walking over to Christian, sincerity in her eyes.

He finally looked up at her, seeing the honesty he couldn't turn this girl away, something had rattled her. To his surprise, she sat at the table and took a sip of the absinth.

"Ugh! That's so strong! Ugh" she choked, gasping for breath.

"I thought you didn't drink?" Christian said.

Marie smiled "Well now I do"


	3. Chapter 3

"That night, Satine was expecting another interview. A wealthy Parisian duke. He was planning to invest in the Moulin rouge so they could turn it into a theatre. But for him to be convinced, he needed Satine. She needed to, ummm, 'convince' him that his investments were worthwhile. He was awkward, spoilt, a man always used to getting his way, if not a tantrum occurred. He was neither smart nor attractive. His only fine point was his wealth and status. If Satine was to marry him she would be a duchess, an actress, a star-showered in riches and fine clothes. All the moulin rouge and its peoples fate rested with her and that one 'interview'."

"As she was dancing and doing her nights entertainment Zidler pointed out the duke to her. Through some lack of communication and the pure coincidence that I was sitting near the duke she mistook me for him. As she finished her dance she approached me and announced it was ladies choice, she excited the crowd and began a frenzied Spanish dance in a pink-feathered outfit, with a sparkling pink corset and her long, curled red hair out and free. It contrasted so beautifully with her previous costume-the first being elegant, restrained and captivating, now this one being free, light and airy. She jumped and danced with me and the pace fastened on the dance floor."

"She went back up on her trapeze, just after telling me to meet her in the elephant. I thought this was for my poetry reading-presenting my work to her to convince Zidler of the new musical and me being the writer. But she obviously still thought I was the duke and had other plans in mind. As she went back up on the trapeze, still in her pink-feathered costume, twinkling like a star in the sky, something happened. She stopped singing on the second last note. She gasped and choked, as we all wondered down below what was wrong. As she struggled for breath and panted she passed out, falling ten feet from the trapeze. We all screamed but luckily she was caught by Chocolate-one of the male dancers. He ran out with her, the men desperate to see if she was all right. Zidler diverted their attention onto the other dancers and ran to see if Satine was okay-all was lost if she was not."

"Backstage she came to and claimed that it was the tightness of her costume, that there was nothing to worry about. But the old lady who took care of the dancers saw Satine cough into her handkerchief and she saw the bloodstains."

Marie gazed up at him, she wished him to go on, to tell her more, and she knew this was only page two of a very long story.

"Go on, what happened next?"

Christian looked away. He seemed uncomfortable. He let her too far into the world he'd spent years burying, the world that contained Satine. The world that contained Love.

"Christian? What's wrong?" Marie asked curiously.

"Nothing, it's just that…nothing" Christian replied hesitantly, unsure of himself.

"Then would you like to continue?" she asked, staring at him.

"No" Christian replied. "Would you like something to eat?"

"You have food?" Marie asked, taken aback. All she thought he had was drink, absinth.

He laughed.

"Of course-how else have I lived over these years?" he asked, laughing at her idea of him being a lazy, famished drunk with bare cupboards. He opened these cupboards and revealed a loaf of bread, some cheese, biscuits and a few apples. He took down the loaf of bread and the cheese and placed them on the tabletop. He opened another cupboard where there was a leg of ham and some sausages; he took two sausages and placed them also on the tabletop. He closed the cupboards and then picked up the sausages and put them on the stove, which he then lit. Warmth filled the room with the stove fired up, and Marie moved closer to it. Christian continued to cut up the cheese and the bread, and then proceeded to find some grimy dishes, which he then washed and placed on the table with a small piece of cheese and bread on each.

"The sausage wont be long," he said, sitting down. Marie breathed in the warm smell of meat cooking and sighed. It wasn't much, he was clearly poor, but it was enough.

Marie picked up her bread and began to eat and talk with Christian.

Marie arrived home late from Christians, not talking to either Catherine or Jean, reminded of her fight, and then blushed at her embarrassment of jumping on Christian in passion. She couldn't understand it-what was it about this man, nearly old enough to be her father, that she couldn't resist? She blushed again at the thought of his surprise, and smiled as she remembered-he had kissed her back

"Marie? Where have you been?" Jean asked firmly, still angered from that morning.

She didn't answer, no matter how shameful, how sinful and how badly thought her actions were, she couldn't help but swoon at the thought of Christian kissing her back.

"Marie!" jean yelled

"Marie, answer your father!" Catherine yelled, anger amounting in her then realising what she had just said, waited for the blow.

But nothing happened, Marie did not yell about how Jean wasn't her father, or anything of the sort. She just swooned by, not a care in the world and closed her bedroom door behind her.

Yvonne was lying on their bed, braiding her hair while reading a book. She looked up as Marie came in.

"Marie? Why are mum and dad yelling?" Yvonne said, trying to catch Maries eye, but Marie was off in another world, no cares for the one she inhabited.

"Marie? Are you there?" Yvonne asked.

Marie turned and smiled.

"Yes"


	4. Chapter 4

Most days after that Marie spent in Christian's apartment, talking to him of her troubles at home and what it was like in Montmarte back when the bohemian revolution was at its peak. Though he had not told her any more of his story and she would not pressure him. She wanted to tell him of her dream; that she suspected Satine was her mother but was scared that he would realise that he was her father.

It was the thing Marie feared the most.

Was Christian her father? Could she possibly be attracted to her real father? She shook away her thoughts in disgust; there was only one way to know for sure.

"Christian" she said one sunny day, lying on his bed as he sat at his typewriter, unsure of what to write. "What year was it that you met Satine?"

Christian looked away; he thought that he had gotton the message through to her that he didn't want to talk of Satine any longer; that it hurt too much.

"Christian? Please, this is of some importance" she pleaded, looking at him imploringly.

He sighed "why?"

She stopped. She didn't want to tell him, she didn't want him to know in any case-whether he was her father or not, she didn't want him to know that she was a product of his lovers career.

He looked at her, stood up and walked over to her and sat down on the floor, looking straight at her, his face only inches from hers.

"What's troubling you Marie?"

She looked away from that piercing gaze; those sweet hazel eyes, or were they grey? It was a colour caught between those two, neither hazel nor grey but then again, it was both.

"Marie?"

"Please, just tell me" she pleaded, looking down at her hands, fidgeting with her handkerchief.

"I met her in the summer of 1899, you know that, it was when I arrived in Paris. I told you," he said finally, confused of what she needed to know.

She sighed a sigh of relief; he was not her father. She was found on the doorstep in 1892, her birth date being February 14th 1892. He was not her father. She was born years before Satine and Christian met, now her father could be any man, but Christian. Then she thought of something. Satines journal. If she could find the months she was conceived then it could point the truth if she really was Satines daughter, the daughter of a courtesan.

"Where's Satine's diary?" she asked, still not meeting his gaze.

"What do you mean by all of this? I've told you so much and now you pry and when I ask questions you refuse to answer!" he raged, standing up and walking to his bedside table, picking up Satines diary. "I haven't even read this myself! Why are you so fascinated? What does this mean to you? Why do you want it?" he yelled, holding the diary out in front of her. He continued to yell in rage until she couldn't take it.

"Stop it! Stop it! She's my mother!" she screamed standing up, and upon realising what she said, dropping back onto the bed and bowing her head.

He looked at her, realisation dawning onto his face. He dropped the diary in shock and sat down next to her on the bed.

"What do you mean?" he asked, surprised and shocked at her statement.

She explained about the dream, the fight with her parents about her birth mother, the idea she had to prove that Satine was or wasn't her mother was to read the diary.

Christian looked at her, stunned that they had met.

"You don't need that diary, I can take one look at you and say you're related to her. It's something that's troubled me ever since I met you. When you first approached me I thought you were her; an angel come to tell me that everything would be alright," he said slowly.

"I was scared to tell you after what happened the morning after we met, how I kinda-"

"-Jumped on me?"

"Yes"

She returned home that evening, ready to face her parents, knowing that they wouldn't refuse her once she said the name of her mother.

She came into the kitchen and looked straight at them.

"I am going to ask you this and I don't want you to lie. Was my mother's name Satine?" she asked firmly, her hand gripping the tabletop in fear.

Catherine and Jean looked at her in wonderment, shocked at the mention of her others name.

Catherine stopped stirring the boiling pot and gasped, she grabbed at the table and concentrated on breathing for a moment; the very mention of the woman who tried to take her baby. Yes it wasn't Catherine's by birth, but she loved Marie just as much as any mother and the thought of losing her was frightening.

"Marie? Where did you hear this name?" jean said quietly.

"I had a dream, though I think it was a memory, you can tell whether it really happened or not and this did. Well anyway, you two were fighting, over me, about my birth mother Satine, I was only 6, and I was hiding under the kitchen table. Do either of you remember this?" Marie said slowly and clearly, gathering her thoughts.

Yvonne had entered and stood their gaping at Marie, who had already told her about the dream but still was shocked to hear her confront their parents over it.

Catherine sighed and looked away. She was caught between protecting and telling her daughter, she didn't want it resting on Marie's shoulders that she was the daughter of a whore, but she hated lying and treating her like a child. In a few years she'd be married with children.

"It's true" Catherine said quietly, a tear running down her face. She knew that after this Marie would just preoccupy herself with finding Satine, and what if she found her, what if she accepted her as her mother and they became the best of friends?

Marie sat down. She thought she was certain and yet it was a shock for her all the same.

"When we found you, there was a note explaining her situation and everything" Catherine continued getting up and searching though the drawers of the kitchen, full of papers and things Marie had never bothered herself with. She pulled out what they thought was the bottom of the drawer-but it was a piece of wood, hiding things of her parents. She pulled out a couple papers and a gold heart-shaped locket and handed them one by one to Marie.

Marie looked at the things that lay in her lap and she picked up the first note, it was the one that was with her when she was found.

_Monsieur/Madame,_

_I have seen you two with your child and seen how loving and caring you are of her. That's why I'm asking you please look after this child._

_My name was Marguerite Richàrd, but I am known to most as Satine. I am a dancer and courtesan at the Moulin Rouge in the bohemian town of Montmarte, on the hill that your street is quite near to. If I had any choice in this matter I would keep my dear child but it is not my decision._

_I am a streetwalker, a prostitute, and yet I haven't gotten pregnant before, even though I have been in the business since I was thirteen (I am now 18). If you have ever visited the moulin rouge I am known as one of the "Diamond Dogs" and my manager says I have a lot of potential as a head dancer in the club._

_But a new actor and dancer came to the moulin and he changed everything for me. I fell in love and I felt true happiness. This baby is the result of my happiness and since my profession destroys love, we decided it wouldn't work out. I cried for days after this and felt sicker each day. Then I realised I was with child._

_For nine months I have carried this baby, knowing I will not be allowed to keep her. My employer/manager/advisor, Harold Zidler, told me to start looking for a kind loving family who will take this amazing girl in. I would walk from Montmarte on all my time off, looking for a family that would love her as if she were their own. I'm sorry if this was an imposition, and if you cannot or will not care for her then just send for me and I shall take her to an orphanage._

_I wish with all my heart that you take her in, I grew up in an orphanage and I know it just ends any girl back on the streets. They have no titles, no family to guide them and women generally have no other career options. Most orphans end up turning to prostitution. I never wished to be a whore, I've always wanted to be an actress, so please don't think I had a choice in my professions-at least the moulin rouge is more than a common brothel. I don't want my girl ending up like me: a sad woman who cannot love or keep her own children. _

_Keep her safe,_

_And please, I would like to call her 'Marie'_

_Mademoiselle Satine Richàrd_

_14 Moulin Rouge, Main Street Montmarte_

Marie gaped at the letter, unsure how to react. More than ever now she wanted to know what had happened in the end, to her mother.

She shuffled through the rest of the papers then picked up the locket, there was a piece of paper titled 'Locket' underneath.

She picked it up and read…

_Locket,_

_This locket was a gift from the girl's father to me, it is solid gold and I still don't know how he got the money to buy it. He gave it to me when he asked me to elope and run away from the Moulin Rouge. I refused as an actors wages are next to nothing and my wages were getting higher and higher at the moulin. No other dance hall pays as high and I was becoming lead dancer soon and head courtesan._

_I now wish I had said yes, even though we would've had very little money I would have been allowed to keep my little girl, she is the world to me._

_You probably wont want to tell her the truth about her birth mother until she is quite older, old enough to understand these things anyway. So I ask if you ever tell her about her mother and her profession, give her this locket and tell her that no matter what I'll always be with her, even though I only saw you as a baby, with your sparkling blue eyes and dark hair on your head._

_I shall not go on about you as a baby as you were too beautiful to describe_

_I wish I could know what you turn out to look like; would you have my red hair or your father's dark brown? Will you keep your pale skin or look Argentinean like him? _

_I only wish I could've raised you._

_But I hope we do meet in the future._

_I love you my dear Marie_

_Mademoiselle Satine Richàrd_

_14 Moulin Rouge, Main Street Montmarte_

Marie looked closely at the locket. It was heart shaped and dusty. She wiped the dust off and opened it. Inscribed was "To my beloved, Satine, may this locket always remind you of our love" and on the other half there was a photo of a beautiful woman, with long wavy hair and pale skin. She was very elegant and sophisticated but there was a glint of cheekiness in her eye. It was like looking in a mirror in a couple years for Marie, what she would look like when she was fully grown. Standing next to her was a man, tall and olive skinned. He had short dark hair and dark eyes. He was obviously foreign and from what Marie gathered from the letter, Argentinean? Where was that country? She didn't know.

This was a photo of her mother and father, an amazingly attractive pair of people, which was surprising as they were supposed to be poor.

She looked up at Marie and Jean, not sure what to say.

"I suppose you want to try to find her now?" Jean said tentatively.

"Who?" Marie said, surprised.

"Satine, your birth mother" jean said, confused on who she thought her might've meant.

"Oh, no, she's dead. I already knew" Marie answered. Catherine and jean looked surprised at her knowledge of Satine.

"How did you know?" jean asked, unsure.

"Umm, I met someone who knew her and her told me about her. I don't know how or when but I know she's dead" she said flatly. She looked around at her parent's shocked faces, unsure what to say next.

Then it came to her.

"Thankyou, for finally telling the truth" she said looking at Catherine, her face wet with tears. Marie stood and walked to her, and hugged her adoptive mother.


End file.
